


Sunday Disappearances (Blame the snow)

by okeydokey (LilMissNerdfighter)



Series: Merry Christmas from 221B [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 03:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilMissNerdfighter/pseuds/okeydokey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock emerges from his mind palace to discover 221B is empty. Where are John and Hamish?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Disappearances (Blame the snow)

When Sherlock snapped out of his mind palace, early one Sunday morning, he didn’t expect to hear silence. However, apart from the slowly ticking clock, that was all there was. No Hamish, snoring quietly upstairs and no John, making tea or grumbling about being awake too early. It was far too quiet. Sherlock’s usually rational brain flew to conclusions about Moriarty or John packing his bags and taking Hamish with him. But there had been no more than the usual amounts of bickering- not enough for John to leave in the dead of the night- and Moriarty was dead, that he knew for sure. So, where were they?

Sherlock raced upstairs to check his son’s bedroom, and as expected, there was an empty bed, the sheets still warm. He found the same thing in the room he shared with John- they couldn’t have been missing for very long, then. Sherlock returned to his chair, and checked his phone.

_No new messages._

Sherlock took a deep, calming breath (that was what John had told him you were supposed to do to relax) and steepled his fingers under his chin. He ran through the events of last night, up until he had vanished into his mind palace- Tea, puzzles with Hamish, John watching the I’m A Celebrity final, Hamish falling asleep on his lap, John laughing and taking a picture, Hamish going to bed, mumbling sleepily under his breath about flying sheep, John yawning and stumbling up the stairs to their bedroom. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Sherlock sat in silence and listened to the clock ticking (7:30AM). Where could they have gone this early on a _Sunday?_ Nothing ever happened on Sundays. There wasn’t even any post on Sundays! He ran his hands through his hair- he was missing something, he _hated_ missing things- what was he missing?

He opened John’s laptop, logged on (password: L0v3You1diot) and looked at the most recent news. Nothing of any interest. Just snow causing problems- why Mycroft hadn’t found a way to combat it effectively yet was beyond him. The fact that everything ground to a halt the second snow fell was just another indication of-

_Snow._

That couldn’t be the reason why his family had left their beds so early- could it? He knew that small children loved it, but…

There was a loud giggle from outside on the street, and a shout of mock annoyance. Sherlock almost ran to the window and threw open the curtains.

‘I’m going to get you,’ his husband laughed, throwing a snowball at his son, aiming to miss.

‘No, you’re not!’ squealed Hamish, running through the snow, his hat falling to the floor. Sherlock smiled at the sight- all the cars were stuck in place, and so there was no danger there. He pulled on his coat and scarf, and found some gloves. If someone had told him six years ago that he would be willingly going outside in a snow storm, to play with a small child- his son no less- he’d have probably laughed until he cried. Before John and Hamish, he would’ve barricaded himself inside and refused to go out unless it was for an interesting case. It was almost frightening how much he had changed. However, this change, he felt, was a change for the better.

Sherlock pulled open and swept down the stairs. He could conquer the white blanket of death and coldness outside- if a five year old could do it, he could do it too. He threw open the door, checked his keys were in his pocket and stepped outside.

Fuck, it was cold.

There, in the distance, making a snowman was Hamish, as John watched. Sherlock walked silently towards them, ignoring the cold. He could understand why people liked it when it snowed- it made everything look like something off a Christmas Card- and that was the sort of thing that pleased the masses. It was like snow was some form of morale booster, pulled out of a box every year or two, to bring the country together- whether to complain or to revel in it. He was probably, Sherlock had to admit, in the latter group now. Now he had a reason to like it.

‘You finally came outside, then?’ smiled John, intertwining his freezing fingers with Sherlock’s warm ones. Sherlock nodded, watching his son attempt to roll the body of the snowman (which was becoming bigger than he was). ‘I’m glad you did, love.’

‘Father!’ Hamish cried, abandoning his efforts to run towards Sherlock, the moment he noticed him standing next to John. Impulsively, Sherlock scooped him up in his arms and whirled him around, laughing at Hamish’s gleeful shouts.

He could get used to this snow thing.

 


End file.
